


Double Bipper

by mariachiMushroom



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bipper, Body Horror, Don't Try This At Home, Eye Trauma, M/M, age ambigous, bipper/bipper, can you tell at which point I just decided to be incredibly silly?, clone copier being used to its fullest potential, i guess it's consensual?, one dom!bill, one sub!bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariachiMushroom/pseuds/mariachiMushroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bipper discovers the clone copier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Bipper

“Get out of my space, you creep!” Wendy lifted her hand above her head threateningly.

“Or you'll do what?” asked Bill Cipher, stretching the mouth of the possessed Dipper Pines into a smirk and leaning in closer. He hadn't been doing anything bad to Chill Red, not really. He was just trying to get a closer whiff of the intoxicating aroma surrounding her. Something piny, something musky, something bloody and rotten. Human senses were the best!

She answered him with a stinging backhand that twisted his whole face around. An electric shock, her touch. It had a zesty sting that had recently disappeared from his own attempts at self-harm. There were only so many times he could sprinkle salt into his eyes before it became mundane. Boring, even. Too predictable.

“Do that again,” Bill commanded.

“No! Seriously, what's gotten into you, Dipper?” Wendy asked. Her eyes crinkled in a manner that Bill knew indicated concern, but she kept her distance from the possessed boy.

“What's gotten into me? Wouldn't you like to know. See ya later, toots.” Bill swaggered away, lifting one leg up and letting it fall in a controlled manner. By now, he'd gotten the hang of all his body's muscles, although people still stared when he crawled up the walls.

Yes, his vacation in this human body was so exciting! Every day was sensational. Why just last night, he'd known the joys of Taco Bell, and the ensuing explosive diarrhea. He'd had to exit it for a moment, just to see how stupid the boy's body looked when it was trying to eject its intestines.

But Red's sting was something else, all right. Maybe the difference was that it was someone else causing the sensation? Bill imagined being blinded, his eyes leaking vitreous humor. No way to tell what was happening. All around him, hands groping and twisting and stabbing. A shiver went down his spine at that thought.

Well, that settled it. Time to get an accomplice. But who? Red was out. The human's sister wasn't so tractable either. He'd asked her, politely even, to break a leg, any leg, but she had laughed in his face. And Stanford Pines? Truth be told, he was the reason why Bill was on his best behavior. That was why Bill hadn't ripped that pig apart with his bare hands and devoured its tender, fatty flesh. He couldn't let dear old Grunkle Stan find out about his plans.

No, the only one Bill could count on was … Bill himself.

*

“Welcome to life, good to see me,” said Bill to the freshly printed copy of himself that was just popping into the third dimension. Good thing that magical printer still had lots of toner left. “I've got lots of plans for tonight.”

“And why should I help you?” said the copy. “Maybe I should just kill you and take your place myself. I could make toast whenever I want.”

In response, Bill spat in the copy's eye. The copy scowled as its eye melted away, revealing an empty socket.

“Unfortunately, you're a little more … volatile than I am. But look on the bright side! Think of all the fun you could have with a 'disposable' body.” As soon as Bill saw the deranged grin on his copy's face, he knew he had him.

“All right, I'll play my own game. Let's go upstairs.” The one-eyed clone turned around to go to the attic and walked straight into a wall. Lack of depth perception was a pain.

“On second thought, I'll lead,” Bill said.

*

And that was how Bill found himself blindfolded on Dipper's bed, with his hands tied above his head, a rope binding him to the bed. Bill could hear his clone shuffling around and moving things into the room. To pass the time, he tried to guess what each of the objects were. That clinking noise? Definitely a belt. The smell of burning? Probably a candle. A series of short scraping noises? A knife, being sharpened. The anticipation was killing him.

Bill felt the bed dip under the weight of his copy. It was starting! The copy straddled his waist. Bill had a pretty good idea what it was going to do, being omniscient and also identical, but he still groaned as the copy sunk its teeth into his neck. That was going to leave a mark in the morning. He shivered as the copy alternated between licking the salt off Dipper's body and savaging his neck. It was like being eaten alive. He was going to have to investigate the local wildlife at some point.

Bill felt the copy lean back, presumably to admire the collar of bite marks. The chill of the air was making the weird brown ovals on his chest start to stand up. He was just about to demand that the copy keep moving when its hands firmly pinched his nipples and gave a twist. A high-pitched squeak escaped his mouth as the sensitive flesh was bruised. So that's what those mysterious flesh bumps were for. The copy leaned down to nibble on the tender flesh.

“Getting a bit nippy, huh?” Bill quipped. “Bite off more than you can chew?”

“I think you should just sit back, relax, and keep QUIET.” The copy said, his voice reverberating around the room. His hands clasped around Bill's throat, cutting off air. Bill tried to lie still while being suffocated, but the panting body was having a hard time adjusting to a lack of vital oxygen. It started writhing, self-preservation instincts kicking in. On top, the copy leaned more of its weight against the body below, pinning it to the bed. Bill's vision grew blurry, and bright sparks flashed in his vision. He could no longer feel the struggles of his borrowed body. A wave of calm washed over him and he floated up, up and ...

right out of the body. Bill was ejected into the air, where he spent a couple moments admiring the sight of Dipper strangling himself. Only long enough to commit the scene to eternal memory, before he tapped his copy on the shoulder.

“Get off the body. I think it's about to die.” The copy looked up in surprise and narrowed its eye.

“Don't look around. You'll spoiler yourself.”

“Fine,” Bill drawled, making a show out of closing his eye. But from the gleam in the corner of his vision, he was very pleased to note that his prediction of a knife was correct.

While the body recovered from its near-death experience, the clone stripped it of clothes and flipped it on its stomach. Bill slipped back into Dipper's body, as it gasped for breath. The throat was burning.

“I'm gonna need some water for this thing.”

“Then suck on this.” A gloved hand shoved an ice cube in Bill's mouth, tasting of rubber and cold. He suckled on the melting ice. The freezing chill of the water as well as the air made Bill's body shiver, and little prickles of flesh stand up under his skin.

“Feeling cold? How's this?” A drop of burning heat bloomed on Bill's back and he twisted uncontrollably. The copy standing above him chuckled and dripped more wax onto his back. As the hot liquid cooled, it formed a warm layer on his back. It was actually quite soothing, like a bath. Bill sighed, and squirmed in happiness. If he had been possessing a cat, he would have purred.

In one fast movement, the copy ran its fingernails down Bill's back, gouging channels in the hot wax. Bill hissed at the contrast between the comforting wax and the sharp nails. Wax chips fell to the sheet, leaving itchy shreds on Bill's stomach.

Something great was happening in his pants area. The normally limp flesh was firming up, filling with a great heat. Each thrash of his body rubbed his hardening crotch against the bed, soothing and adding to the building pressure. Even after the copy had stopped running its nails down his back, Bill continued to squirm and press against the firm mattress. Strings of drool were dripping out of Bill's mouth, dampening the sheets beneath. His ragged breathing sounded harshly in the room.

“Let's get you up,” cooed the copy. Even though Bill wanted nothing more than to rut against the bed forever, he pliantly sat up as he felt a tug on the rope tying his hands together. The rope stretched higher and higher above his head until he was forced into an awkward tiptoe on the balls of his feet, facing the bed. Calf muscles burned.

With a loud smack, a belt hit Bill right on his back. The tender skin was still sensitive from the wax and scratches. He yelped and stumbled forward, but the rope kept him upright. He heard a low chuckle behind him as his copy continued to rain blows with all its strength, keeping him off balance. Like a puppet with only one string, the copy jerked the rope up and down, consumed with gleeful sadism at tormenting the original.

He just wanted to escape the ropes and wrap his hands around his member, squeeze it until it popped. Whenever he tried to drag the tip of his throbbing organ across the sheets, the copy pulled tighter on the rope, forcing him back up. He dangled frustratingly in the air.

A strange lassitude was washing over Bill, filling his head with static even as the belt whipped his back. The crack of leather on flesh was a hypnotic rhythm. Like a heated candle, his thoughts were melting and running out of his head. He could no longer tell where Bill started and Dipper's body ended. He gave up any semblance of control and dangled limply from the rope, letting escape a small whimper whenever he was struck. In his daze, it was a while before he even noticed that the blows had stopped and he was sitting on the bed.

The copy lifted the blindfold. The light stung Bill's dilated pupils, and he turned away, only to have the copy grasp his jaw and force his face up. Bill knew that Dipper's body must look an absolute wreck. His eyes were watering from the bright light, his hair was disheveled and sweaty, and his lip was bleeding from where he had bitten it at a particularly sharp blow.

The copy was wearing rubber gloves. With a knowing smirk, it ran a finger down his chest and lightly teased his tip, then pulled away as Bill thrust forward. Not enough, not enough.

“Touch, you have to touch-” Bill begged.

“No. You're leaking, and I don't want to melt just yet,” the copy said with a familiar cruelty. “Now clean me up.” A glistening string hung from the copy's gloved finger. It pushed the digit into Dipper's mouth, forcing Bill to taste the salty, bitter solution. Bill bit down on the finger, only to have his neck once again clenched in his copy's hand, reminding him of the helplessness of his situation. His jaw slacked as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Complete powerlessness. Is this what humans felt like all the time?

Bill limply acquiesced to his copy rearranging his body. Once or twice, the copy used his flushed organ as a handle to maneuver him, then let go before the pleasure could fully blossom. Finally, he was placed in a kneeling position on the bed, hands still tied above his head. He stared in a daze as his copy took off its gloves.

“Don't tune out just yet,” the copy said, bringing out the knife. “The real show's about to start.”

Bill Cipher watched in fascination as the clone held the knife in its right hand and started tracing a thin line on the left. It cut a red strip around the forearm and up the back of the hand. It delicately peeled a corner of skin off and then pulled up, hard, ripping through the thin fascia tying the skin to the muscle. The skin stretched and inverted, revealing tendons and fat and muscle. The clone's hand slipped on the bloody hide and it had to readjust to grab the skin harder. Finally, the last of the fascia tore. The copy held the inverted skin glove triumphantly in the air.

“Let's give me a hand!” The clone lay the bloody skin at the side of the bed. “For you, my lady,” said the copy sarcastically. Bill stared, amazed and envious. Bill leaned forward and kissed the skinned hand, noting how the copy's blood turned to ink in his mouth. A pity.

The clone played with the flayed hand, wiggling the fingers to see how the finely-crafted structure of tendons and muscles moved. On a whim, it placed its skinned hand on Bill's chest. “Look, a hand turkey!” it crowed, stamping Bill's body with red prints. It waved the hand over the lit candle, then had to quickly stick it in the bag of ice as it caught on fire.

“Now for some exotic theater,” declared the copy. It knelt on the floor on its knees in Japanese style. “I have dishonored my ancestors, now it's time to die!” it yelled as it sliced open the soft human stomach from groin to chest. Bloody ropes of intestines spilled out onto the ground. The clone pulled out a length of slippery organ cord.

“Watch this magic trick. This scarf just keeps going and going!” When the copy had fully pulled out the intestines, it wrapped the bloody coils around its neck and strutted around like a fashion model.

“This year's hottest new fashion: bowel boas! It's the look all the girls are dying for.” As the copy was mid-stride, one coil of intestines wrapped around its foot, tripping it.

“I guess my own organs gave me the slip!” The copy tried to stand up, but it was hopelessly entangled in its own bowels. It was like wrestling with a drip-and-glide. “Help, I've fallen and I can't get up,” it droned, imitating the famous infomercial. Giving up on remaining upright, the copy sat on the ground in a coil of colon.

“There's one last act for tonight. Watch, as I try a trick never before seen by audiences in this plane of existence. Drumroll, please.” The copy brandished its knife and stabbed its chest precisely three times. Then, it dug its fingers into the wound and pulled open the sternum with all its strength. The ribs snapped with a loud crack, revealing a perfect view of a beating heart, nestled in the center of the gently flexing lungs and framed by the ribs.

With a dramatic flourish, the clone reached into its exposed chest, ripped out the heart, and bit into the pulsing flesh. Blood ran down its cheeks and pooled on the floor. The crowd went wild.

“Encore, encore!” yelled Bill.

“Well, I hope you liked the show! I put all my heart into it. Now, I must bid you a good night.” A wave of blood rushed out of the clones mouth as it collapsed to the ground. Out was ejected the copied Bill Cipher. The ghostly copy flew into the real Dipper's body and fused with the original Bill Cipher's consciousness.

All the copy's memories flooded into Bill Cipher's mind. The flayed, burning hand. The disemboweled guts. The ripped-out heart. Bill came to the memory of biting into his own still-beating heart, the rich, metallic blood flowing down his throat. Pain and pleasure mixed in a heady rush.

With a few final splurts, the orgasm faded. Bill leaned back, warm and satiated. He lolled indolently, basking in the sight of the bloody mass of guts spilled in the ground. The memories from this night would go in a special vault in the Dreamscape.

Eventually, the endorphins wore off. Bill was aware of a thousand tiny unpleasantries. Damp hair fell in a mop around his face. Sweat and fluids were cooling on his borrowed body's skin. His wrists chafed. Someone was going to have to untie the knots.

“I think I've had enough fun for now,” Bill Cipher said, slipping out of Dipper's body and leaving it empty for any wandering adolescent male spirit to possess. “Good luck cleaning up this mess!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sub!Bill is best Bill. This work was written quite a while ago, but I didn't have the confidence to post it until now. I'd apologize if I actually felt sorry for the incredible bait and switch in the middle. That's my idea of humor! 
> 
> Found it hot? Disgusting? Hilarious? Let me know!


End file.
